Faith, Trust, and Pixie Dust
by Lilly Ledger
Summary: London, England, the place where Wendy Darling first met Peter Pan... But now the year is 2009. Where has Peter been all this time? Despite her world crashing around her, can Ashlyn retain her belief in Pan? Or will she fall under James Hook Jr's spell?
1. Custodies and Persuasions

Hullo readers!

Okay, so I know it's been a while, and I'm truly sorry. I promise I am _still_ working on the stupid malfunction that stole my Dark Knight story. But anyways, I am on the Peter Pan kick of the century! (Hurray!) So here is a new version: The year is 2009 (soon to be 2010, seeing as the New Year is just around the corner), and the original setting takes place in the United States of America. The main character is a girl named Ashlyn Wendy (yes, _Wendy_, as in "_Wendy Darling_") Burke. The thing that makes it hard to write about Peter Pan is that (in my belief), Peter is on the verge of adulthood. He's not a child by any means - probably fourteen... fifteen years of age - but he's paused right between childhood and adulthood. This is a tricky time to write about. On one hand, I don't by any means want to corrupt this legendary figure by romanticizing him. But on the other hand, there's no doubt he longs for something more, like all adolescents of that age group. So please, comment and enjoy - and criticism is much appreciated! Merry Christmas!

Love,

Lilly

* * *

Persuasion is a recently acquired skill for me.

When I was younger, I couldn't convince anyone of anything. I was like the ancient prophetess of Greek mythology, Cassandra – I could be telling the truth, but no matter what I said no one believed me. When I was a kid, that was okay. Things went my way anyways. I was Daddy's little girl, his porcelain doll child. What with my dark-chocolate colored hair, creamy skin and wide, deep blue eyes fringed in the darkest, longest eyelashes you've ever seen, not to mention my pale pink, rosebud lips and bright excited manner, you'd think I was a cherubim. Anything I wanted I got, and right away too. It just simply wasn't done any other way.

Maybe I inherited the persuasion from Dad. Like how you're born with brown eyes because your mom or dad has blue eyes, except yours are slightly darker or deeper – maybe I inherited persuasion from Dad, except his was oral and mine is written.

Dad could make anyone believe anything he wanted them to just by speaking. Every night he used to tuck me into bed and tell me stories about the adventures of Peter Pan and the Lost Boys, and I believed every word he said. When we had guests, he would stay up late into the night with them, just talking. I used to eavesdrop on them from the other room, and I'd be proud because no matter what they were discussing – politics, movies, the current economic crises, etc – our guests would always end up agreeing with Dad. Then they would leave the family room in amiable spirits, and find me sleeping on the floor, having dropped off during their conversations. One thing Dad never had to do was agree to disagree.

And then there was me, whom no one believed no matter what I said or did. Dad would always tease me about it. He'd laugh so hard whenever I'd try to convince him to buy me an ice cream or a toy, and then tell me to give it up. Eventually I stopped trying, because as soon as I did give up he'd buy it for me anyways. Then he'd tell me that I would never be the first Lost Girl ever if I didn't learn persuasion, and he'd tell me how Peter Pan had the skill mastered. He'd tell me stories about Peter tricking Smee or one of the other pirates into doing different things because he could mimic voices, and how Hook was the only one who could ever resist Peter. Then I'd tell him that Hook wouldn't be able to resist my dad, and neither could Peter, and Dad would laugh and laugh and I'd just smile because I believed it to be true, and Mom would roll her eyes and ask Dad when he would stop telling me silly fairy tales.

Dad and I were closer than anything. He was my best friend and confident, and Peter Pan was our sort of anthem. We'd say anything was possible if we only had some faith, trust, and pixie dust. We were inseparable, we two, him with his persuasion and me with my angelic innocence and complete failure at logic. Unlike some people, this bond only strengthened with age, even after the horrific events of my thirteenth spring.

That was the year Mom and Dad decided to get divorced.

When they told me, they explained that it would be a good thing. They said that they both would still love me no matter what, and that they'd remain friends so I wouldn't be shuttled between them like a piece of cargo. Even though the custody hearing turned in some unfathomable reason in my mothers' favor, it wasn't horrible. I saw Dad every weekend and sometimes on weekdays, and every time I saw him he'd have a new Peter Pan adventure to tell me. I was a teenager, and my belief in the red-headed, flying boy of Neverland was stronger than ever.

By that time, I'd also come to terms with my inability to convince people of things. Whenever I had to write a persuasive paper in school, my teachers would commend me for my creativity, reasoning, and aptitude to make words and sentences flow in perfect cadence, but every time they'd have to say they maintained the opposite position. I didn't mind, though. Like my papers, my life had the "perfect cadence". I was a divorced kid with nearly the best life ever, and I attributed it all to faith, trust, and – yes, even some pixie dust.

But a little over a year had passed since Mom and Dad's split. The custody rehearing had been scheduled for May 14th. I was secretly looking forward to it, because while Mom was a great woman, she just wasn't Dad. I was missing my best friend. Maybe that's why the week before the rehearing was layered with anticipation for me. I wasn't able to concentrate in class. There was a school dance on the fourteenth, and though three or four boys asked me if I wanted to go, I refused absentmindedly. Change was in the air, I could sense it, and it was making me jittery.

On the thirteenth, I was at home working on some Global Issues homework on my brand new laptop (a gift from my dad, of course) when there was the faint metallic _ding _that signaled a new email arriving in my inbox. I clicked on the tab and saw it was from my Dad.

From: davidburke

To: firstlostgirl15

Subject: Custody Rehearing

Hey,

Just wanted to remind you that the rehearing is tomorrow. I want you to know that I'll do everything in my power to get custody of you, no matter what that might take. I know you love the new house, and there's this woman at my work place I can't wait for you to meet. Say hi to your mother for me. Remember, we can get through this with some faith, trust, and pixie dust. Hope you had a great day at school and I'll see you tomorrow.

Love, Dad

P.S.

Go take your medicine before you forget.

I stared at the message for a few moments. I could tell Dad was in a rush because normally his email would be about three pages long, chock full of descriptions about that woman he had mentioned, about the mischief his new Labrador puppy Slightly (yes, named after the Lost Boy, thank you very much) had gotten himself into, and also a lot of questions about school and my life in general. With Dad and I, there was never any trouble finding something to talk about. I reread the email a few times until I was positive I could recite them in my sleep if need be (studiously ignoring the part about my medicine, too, I might add), and then clicked reply.

I wanted Dad to win, of course. But it was that second line that bothered me. "I want you to know that I'll do everything in my power to get custody of you, no matter what that might take". If there was one thing I wanted more than being able to live with Dad instead, it was that I wanted the divorce to remain friendly. I couldn't bear the thought of Mom and Dad's friendship being torn apart over me. Like I said, Dad could convince anyone of anything. So when he said, "no matter what that might take" there was no doubting him. I sighed, brushed my bangs out of my eyes nervously, and then typed:

From: firstlostgirl15

To: davidburke

Subject: re:Custody Rehearing

Dad –

Don't fight over me, please. I'm happy here, really. It's not like we'll never see each other again if Mom keeps me. We're still going to England this summer, right? Please just drop it. It would ruin everything.

Love, Ash

P.S.

No.

I hit "send", and leaned back in my desk chair, waiting for the "MESSAGE HAS BEEN SENT" notice. I smiled, proud of myself. I knew Dad would never listen to me, especially since I sucked so badly at persuasion. I felt a tiny twinge of regret that I was happy Dad would be taking me away from Mom, but somehow I could sense Mom wouldn't mind that much. She'd be able to spend some more time out with her new boyfriend, Joel, without worrying about her daughter. I also felt a little bad that I'd just lied to Dad about being happy here. Not that I wasn't – it was just… I would be much happier with him.

But he wouldn't believe me, right? So no harm done.

I turned back to my Global Issues project with disgust, and began researching the GDP per capita of Singapore. Once I was done with that I shut down the laptop, called goodnight to Mom, and brushed my teeth and hair, washed my face, pulled on my PJs, and climbed into bed.

Right before I closed my eyes I felt a pervasive wave of nausea wash over me, bringing with it the uncomfortable premonition that something dark was going to be waiting for me when I woke up tomorrow. I pushed the feeling away sleepily, and drifted into dreams laced with sparkling pixies, lost boys, and fighting evil one-handed pirates back with a sword in my hand, Peter Pan at my side, and the low, steady rumble of my father's laugh in my ear.

* * *

The next morning was dark. Storm clouds hovered over my head as I rushed to get my school things together and ran to catch the bus. Fat raindrops plittered against the steel roof of the bus just as I got on, drowning out the sound of the sleepy, half-hearted conversations around me. I slid into seat 15, next to my friend Seri, and leaned my head back against the worn, synthetic leather.

"The hearing's today," observed Seri quietly. Her dark eyes appraised me, intuitive as always. I glanced at her and felt a pang of envy; she had the most gorgeous naturally-platinum-blond hair, and today it was twisted back in a somehow elegant messy bun. There was a streak of hot pink in her side bangs, and she was wearing paint-splattered jeans and a tank with the peace sign on it under a thin hot pink jacket. Seri was an artist – she had dyed her hair herself, and a lot of her clothes were skillfully homemade.

I nodded. "Dad emailed me last night. He said he'd do anything to get me back." I fingered the Peter Pan necklace I always kept tucked under my shirt. Today the tiny painted metal figurine was unbearably cold against my skin, like for some reason it had decided to stop absorbing body heat. It felt like an ice cube.

Seri smiled faintly at me, then turned back to the window. Extending one finger, she traced a blooming rose on the window pane in the condensation. We both watched it change colors for a little while – green from grass, white or yellow from flowered trees, gray from the sky, brilliant fire from the dawn, just peeking out behind the rain…

"I'm starting a new faerie collection just for you." Seri beamed in my direction. "My first project is Tinkerbell."

I grinned back at her. That was one of the best things about Seri: she never questioned anything, and she had this weird part of her that always knew what I felt like – she always knew whether to continue pursuing a topic, or to just let me be. "Too bad you're the artist," I teased her. "You could be the model."

Seri wrinkled her nose at me, but her lips curved upwards anyways. "Nuh-uh. I'd have to have blue eyes."

"Two words for you: colored contacts." I rolled my eyes at her as if this were dreadfully obvious. Before she could answer, the bus pulled to a stop in front of the high school. I stood up, hoisted my bag onto my shoulder, and stepped off the bus into the gentle downpour. Seri was right behind me as I threw up my hands in protest to the rain and ran for cover. We were giggling hysterically by the time we were through the front doors, but I stifled my laughing quickly and assumed a slightly nauseous look as I realized that the day in front of me determined how I was to spend the rest of my teenage life.

"Don't look like that," said Seri. "You're going to get through this one way or another, and worrying won't help anything."

I shot my friend a grateful look as I headed off for my first period class. Seri was right. The only thing I could do was have faith and trust that it would all work out in the end. As I set my bag down next to my chair and prepared for another lecture about integers and proper graphs, I sent up a silent prayer that Dad would win the hearing and Mom wouldn't give him any reason to fight dirty.

"So, let's review all the components of a proper graph," began Mr. Anders the moment the bell rang. I sighed and rested my head on my desk.

The day passed slowly from that moment on. I felt like I wasn't all there and like I couldn't concentrate at all. A few of my teachers noticed and attributed it to the fact that today was Friday and that I couldn't wait to get home and do my homework. I let them go with it. Hey, whatever floats your boat, right?

Seri didn't even attempt to talk to me on the ride home, but she gave me an encouraging smile as she hopped off the bus stop before mine. It took me a moment to return the smile, but by then she had gotten off the bus. I clutched the Peter Pan figurine tightly, but no matter what I did I couldn't impart any warmth into it. Eventually the coldness sank into my skin. I was shivering as I walked into my house.

"Hello?" I called, not really expecting an answer since Mom said the hearing would probably keep her out for an hour or so after I got home. I headed upstairs and was pulling on a thin sweatshirt, annoyed that I needed it in the nearly-summer heat, when I heard the front door open and close.

"Ash?" Mom called.

I thundered down the stairs. "How did the hearing go?" I felt worried that she was home so early. Was this good or bad?

Mom's mouth curved. "Hi, honey. I'm good, thank you for asking. And yes, my day went well. Lovely to hear you are enjoying freshman year so much. Please, don't feel compelled to share any more details."

I rolled my eyes at her. "Hi, Mom," I intoned quickly. Then I repeated, "How did the hearing go?"

Mom set her purse on the counter. She took out a movie from RedBox and examined it meticulously for scratches. She set it down and swept some crumbs from breakfast off the counter and brushed them into the trash. Then she sat down in a kitchen chair and looked out the window before replying. "Well… It went good…"

"Dad wasn't being difficult?" I asked, confused by her manner.

Mom's mouth curved again, but this time it was a mocking ghost of her normal smile. "Um. No. Dave was difficult... but not in the way you're thinking…" She sighed, then turned so her side was to me. "Honey, the hearing was over nearly as soon as it began. Custody remains as it was before."

I stared at her profile, uncomprehending. "Wait – what?"

"You're stuck with me, I'm afraid, darling." She peeked at my face, and I could tell she wasn't saying it in a bitter tone, but more of a complacent one. She was sorry I was unhappy.

"How?" I wondered aloud. "Yesterday Dad promised me he would do anything to get me back." Something tugged at the edges of my mind, nagging for my attention. Something about an email reply… I shoved that idea away. No, the email had nothing to do with it. It couldn't. Dad knew me well enough that he would have seen through the emailed façade.

Seemingly relieved that I wasn't entirely crushed at the prospect of spending four more years with her, Mom turned to face me again. She plucked some lint off the front of her sweater. "Well, sweetie, Dave said you wanted it this way." She glanced sideways at me. "He said he wanted to 'respect your wishes'. He also sends his love, since he's busy tonight with Natalie, whoever that is."

I stared at her. Natalie? Vaguely I remembered Dad mentioning a new lady in the last email. I almost laughed, though, that he was using her as a shield. My Dad was a coward; he wouldn't even tell me that he didn't want me anymore to my face. He'd made Mom a medium. Maybe he had hoped I would shoot the messenger instead of him.

I hated him.

But… I just couldn't figure it out. Why would he have believed me now? After all these years? And… more importantly, what had made him stop loving me? I bit my lip. Was I that terrible of a daughter? A strange itching ached behind my eyes quite suddenly. I blinked back tears.

Mom's face twisted, her eyebrows knotting over her brilliant azure eyes in concern. She was so beautiful, with curly blond hair that was sprinkled with silver at the edges prematurely, ivory skin, and tiny, fragile frame. Kind of like Seri – not at all like me. I looked like my father, with my dark hair and deep blue eyes. "Honey?" she said softly.

"I'm fine," I said automatically. I brushed my bangs into my eyes, impressively casual, so Mom wouldn't see the tears threatening to spill over. I clenched my jaw and told myself to stop being a baby.

Mom looked unconvinced. "I picked up Maggianos," she offered, naming my favorite restaurant and indicating several brown paper bags I hadn't noticed before that were practically bursting with mouth-watering aroma. She picked up the RedBox movie. "And this. We can have a mother-daughter night." She attempted a smile, eyes still probing into mine. "How does that sound?"

I looked at the movie and resisted the urge to laugh and cry at the same time. _Peter Pan_. Of course. "Nah," I said. "I have a lot of homework this weekend. Maybe some other time, though." Not. "Plus I'm really tired." I glanced at the paper bags. "And I'm not hungry, either." Even with that delicious scent that was pummeling my senses – the scent that usually made me come running like some starving kind of animal – I wasn't hungry. How odd.

"Okay," Mom said, knowing not to pursue the matter. "I'll put it in the refrigerator in case you get hungry later."

"Thanks," I said, even though I knew I wouldn't be hungry later. Then I headed upstairs.

"I love you, sweetheart!" she called after me.

"Thanks," I repeated, ignoring the waver in my voice. _That makes one parent_, I thought grimly. I slipped into my room and shut the door gently behind me. Without even bothering to flick on the light switch, I sank into a huddle on the floor, my arms around my knees that were drawn to my chest, burying my head in my lap.

My heart was in my throat as the tears spilled down my cheeks. I wondered absently if it was trying to jump out of my body, then remembered I didn't care. There was an odd, aching emptiness inside of me, curling in my stomach and freezing my heart so I was shivering even in the heat, even wearing the sweater.

What had I done to deserve my own father deserting me? What was wrong with me? Questions pulsed through my mind like blood in my veins. Why couldn't I just be good, so he'd love me? _What was wrong with me?_

I didn't know how long I cried for. I just remembered the sunset staining the edges of my curtain a watery pale pink-gold, the rain pounding overhead, and finally darkness, as if the entire world had absorbed the blackness forming inside me. It was unbearably quiet when I finally raised my head, sniffling and wiping my tears away with the back of my hand, even with the increasing downpour.

I stared with wide, stinging eyes around my bedroom. It was too dark to see really anything but indistinct shapes – bed, dresser, desk… Silence rang in my ears. I was mad at myself. Mad for losing Dad's love. Mad for being a baby about it. Mad, mad, mad.

And then the anger formed into something stronger. Hatred, as vital as breath, coursed through me, making my heart race wildly. But I didn't hate myself. No… I hated _him_. There was nothing wrong with _me_, it was all _his_ fault, that evil, evil man. I hated him. I hated him! I. HATED. him!

I stood unsteadily to my feet, opened my door and stumbled my way through the dark to the bathroom so I could douse my puffy, tear-stained face with cool water. Mom's door was already shut; I could hear her gentle snore from beyond the wood. I wondered what time it was. The red, digital numbers on the bathroom clock said it was already nine at night. I stared at it, surprised that so much time could have passed so quickly.

When I went back into my room, I changed into plain PJs and crawled into bed. There was my Peter Pan stuffed doll. Dad had got it custom-made for me for my fifth birthday. I blinked at it, then picked it up and threw it at the wall, feeling like Jane in _Peter Pan 2: Return to Neverland_. Feeling theatrical, I muttered, "Faith, trust… pixie dust… childish nonsense."

The words echoed dully at me. I almost laughed. Almost.

And then I realized how true the words were. "Grow up, Ash," I said aloud to myself. "Peter Pan… faith, trust, pixie dust… none of it's real. And crying about it isn't going to help anything. _It's time I grow up already_," I told myself firmly. "_Grow up, Ash_."

I curled underneath my blankets into a tight little ball and clasped my hands to my chest. I felt empty without my Peter Pan plushie thing to hug to myself, to comfort me. But I was growing up now, finally. I didn't need a stupid stuffed thing to sleep with. I closed my eyes, which were still stinging from all the stupid crying, and tried to coax myself into unconsciousness. My radio played gently beyond me. I focused on the words, recognizing a song from Plumb. "_Story books, full of fairy tales; of kings and queens and the bluest skies… My heart is torn just in knowing you'll someday see the truth from lies…"_

_Never again,_ I swore to myself. _I'll never let anyone that close again. They'll just rip my heart out like Dad did. Never again…_

"_Castles, they might crumble, dreams may not come true, but you are never all alone because I will always, always love you…"_

I drifted. That night there was only shadows and darkness and nightmares, and no Peter Pan to chase them away.

* * *

:O OH NOES ASHLYN!!! DON'T STOP BELIEVING!

Anyways, remember: critique! And don't worry about my feelings - I'd rather know that I'm a terrible writer and be able to work on correcting it than have someone lie and tell me I'm awesome and get lazy with my writing.

Also, I know what you're thinking. WHERE THE HECK IS PETER?! Don't worry, loves, he'll be along soon. You'll just have to wait and see... :3

XOXOXO And MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

-Lilly

P.S.

I know the email thing looks stupid, but fanfiction won't let me put their fake addresses in. Oh well. :P


	2. Promises and High School Assessments

NOTE:

Okay, this chapter is really short, so don't laugh at me. It's just detailing... stuff. Make what you will from it. Don't forget to comment and critique!

Love,

Lilly

* * *

A month passed by. Dad called and emailed sometimes, but I refused to talk to him. Seri watched me with wide blue eyes, wary and concerned, as I changed into a quieter, darker, unbelieving woman. And woman I was now – no one could argue that any childish manners I had had before were long gone. Day to day life held less interest for me. I found myself growing more morose and tired. The only times I saw Seri was at school, never outside.

The day I woke up, so to speak, was the Friday before the last week of school. It was in English class. Ms. Laurie, my English teacher, was a woman of deep and sometimes cynical opinions. That day she was giving a rant about how fairy tales stunted a child's growth.

"Oh, they'll tell you it nurtures creativity," she was saying vehemently, "and I won't argue that one bit. But why nurture creativity? Today's youth are tomorrow's leaders, has no one considered _that_? Children should be developing intellectually at an early age, developing good habits. Childhood is an impressionable age. It sets the stage for the rest of an individual's life! And what do we do? Instead of taking advantage of that and nurturing a love for information and learning and work, we fill their heads with fairy tales and nonsense!" Ms. Laurie was turning a peculiar shade of pink. A few students, myself included, watched her with interest. Seri was hiding a cell phone underneath her desk. A few others were even napping.

"..._The Little Mermaid_, _Aladdin_, _Cinderella_, _Snow White_, _Beauty and the Beast_, _Peter Pan_,_ Finding Nemo_!" Ms. Laurie spat out. "Tell me, Kyle, what do the Disney princesses teach us?"

Kyle was a red-haired boy a few inches shorter than me. He was one of the kids who had decided to spend this lecture texting. He looked up, and flushed as brightly as his hair. "Oh. Um… About love?" he ventured. A few of his friends behind him snorted in amusement.

"Exactly!" said Ms. Laurie, appeased. Kyle smiled victoriously and went back to texting. His friends stopped laughing when they realized he'd gotten away with it. "Love! And what do children need to do with love? Nothing! They're _children_! Better to be teaching them to be hard-workers, not _romantics_." She rolled her eyes, then glanced at the clock. "Oh. We only have three minutes left."

People straightened in their chairs and started pulling their stuff together. English was my last class of the day. Ms. Laurie began passing out sheets. "This is your homework for the weekend," she said, over some groaning. "It's due Monday."

I glanced at the paper as I hoisted my bag onto my shoulder. It outlined our assignment, and a rubric was at the bottom of the paper. It was to be a one to two page paper detailing how the fairy tale/kid's movie of our choice was corrupting children.

I felt a smile spread across my face.

"Well that's something I haven't seen in awhile," said Seri cheerfully. "What's up?"

"Nothing," I said. "What time are you coming over?" I watched as surprise flickered over her face, and I felt confused. We'd arranged an end-of-freshman-year sleepover party for tonight about two months ago in anticipation of summer and freedom.

"Um…" Seri bit her lip. "I didn't know you remembered that."

I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. "Of course I do. I've been looking forward to it forever." I stared at her. "Why? Are your parents making you do something tonight or something?" Seri's parents were not only the coolest parents ever – they were always taking her to exhibits or on special trips to places where famous artists had grown up – they were her employers. Whenever they weren't arranging a visit from a prospective buyer of her paintings, they were getting professionals to come in to critique her.

Seri's mouth quirked a little. "Uh, no, they're having a date night tonight."

"Then what?"

She fiddled with a piece of hair and refused to meet my eyes. "Well… It's Charlie's and my two month anniversary, and we were gonna go see a movie and go out to eat and stuff."

I was silent for a moment. She looked up, her head still ducked slightly in shame. "I'm real sorry, Ash," she added. "I just thought… with your… changes…" She trailed off at the look on my face.

"Its fine," I said through gritted teeth. Stupid Ash! How could I have fallen for this again? First Dad, now my closest friend…

Seri looked annoyed all of a sudden. "I know what you're doing," she snapped. "You're blaming me for your dad being a jerk."

"No I'm not," I replied stiffly. "I just thought, after all I've been through, that I could at least count on a friend to hold true to a sleepover we'd arranged _two months _ago."

Seri's cheeks turned red, almost like she was blushing, but more violent-looking. Her eyes were bright with angry tears. "You know what? I give up. I make _one_ mistake, after being subjected to your stupid pity-party for a whole month, and you freak out on me. How was I supposed to know you'd remember? We haven't even talked outside of school in _forever_. So this is it. I _give up_."

She turned and walked away, leaving me standing in the empty English classroom feeling as though I had just been slapped. I stared as the door swung shut, then slowly walked out. Seri was talking to her boyfriend Charlie in front of the school when I finally emerged, and ignored me as I brushed past to get on the bus. I sat in our usual seat, then watched as she walked across the parking lot, arm linked with Charlie's, and as she slid into his car. I hardly noticed when the bus started moving, or when I got home, but suddenly I was in my room, ears ringing oddly.

I did all of my homework, saving my English paper for last. Before starting, I tidied my room and told Mom about my day, excluding the part where I lost the closest thing I had to a best friend. Then I made spaghetti and watched Mom eat it. I never ate anymore. Ever since the day of the custody hearing, I hadn't really been very hungry. Finally when Mom was satisfied everything was okay, I ventured upstairs, sat down at my desk, opened my laptop, and started the paper.

On Monday, after an uneventful and colorless weekend, I turned in my paper. It was my pride and joy, undoubtedly the best paper I'd ever written. When I handed it to Ms. Laurie, I even thanked her for providing me with such a thoughtful and interesting prompt. Then I took my seat, head held high and studiously avoiding Seri's resentful gaze. I couldn't help but smiling as I thought about how I'd forwarded the paper to dear old daddy. I'd gotten the idea from Superman, actually, and I was so proud of myself.

The paper was titled: Why The World Doesn't Need Peter Pan, A High School Assessment by Ashlyn Wendy Burke.


	3. Modern Technology and Defense Mechanisms

Friday was upon me before I'd even realized time was passing. I was lounging in my room, considering the fact that I had the whole summer in front of me, when Mom wandered in and sat delicately on the edge of my bed. I grinned at her, feeling generous.

"Hi, hun," she said brightly. "How was your last day?"

"Good," I replied. _Better now that it's over_. At least the end of school meant not having to see Seri anymore. Yesterday, she'd stopped by just to drop off a box of stuff; accumulated presents and mementoes of our friendship. I'd tried to tell her I was sorry, that I hadn't meant what I'd said, but she'd simply glared at me, spoke a few words, and then hurried off. I hugged my legs to my chest, still hearing her angry voice in my mind. _"I should have known it would come to this, Ashlyn. You've always lived in your fantasy world. You're messed up, you know that? Messed up." _The worst part was after she'd said this, and we'd stared at each other. The worst part was when I opened my mouth and couldn't come up with a response before she was gone, because I was beginning to suspect that she was right. I shivered and roused myself from my reverie. "What's up?"

"Huh?" Mom looked absentminded as I felt. "Oh, nothing…" She was looking over my room. "You've taken down your Peter Pan decorations," she said finally. I shrugged like it was nothing. She looked at me curiously. "How are you _really_ doing, sweetie?"

I shrugged again. "Fine, Mom." I smiled at her. "Now seriously, what's going on?" There was a nervous air about my mother, one that I could easily discern. She kept playing with her hands, and it seemed difficult for her to meet my eye. I felt something hard in the pit of my stomach, warmth in my throat – excitement.

She cleared her throat and stood up. She brushed aside my curtains and looked out. "You always keep these shut now," she commented. "It makes your room so dark. You used to hate having your windows shut as a kid…" she sighed. I stared at her, willing her to just get on with it.

"Okay, Ashlyn, this is what's going on." She faced me, steeling her eyes as they met mine. "I talked to your father yesterday and-" She glared at me as I attempted to interrupt. "-he was talking about your trip to England. He was… tentative about your coming along with him and Natalie, since you've been ignoring him ever since the rehearing."

"Good," I said, "because I'm not going." I traced patterns on my knee, pretending to be entirely absorbed in this task. Mom frowned.

"No, you are." She held up a hand. "You're leaving in the morning. Dave will be here at six, so I suggest you pack your bags. Pack light. You can always go shopping with Natalie when you get there. It's about ten to eleven hours flying time, so don't forget to pack something to amuse yourself in case you can't sleep."

I gaped at her.

She smiled. "No use arguing, Ash. You're going whether you want to or not – and Dave and I, we both know you want to, deep down in there somewhere. Your father said he would have a fun surprise waiting for you when you get there, too."

"What's that?" I grumbled. "A ticket home?"

Mom shot me a Look, then left the room. "You'd better start packing," she said just before she closed the door.

I scowled at my bed. I didn't want to spend my summer with that man and his new girlfriend. You'd think he'd have realized this after my studiously ignoring him for a whole month. I pouted for about five minutes, then sighed and buried my head in my legs. I felt overwhelmingly tired all of a sudden.

And whoever said teenagers had it easy… I'd like to slap them.

The next morning my alarm woke me at five. I showered and gathered my things, then sat at the window, staring at the curtain as I waited for Dad to show up. Mom tried unsuccessfully to coax me into having breakfast. I ignored her. At about five-fifty, the doorbell rang. The sound was loud in the early morning silence. I could hear Mom open the door, and then – horror of horrors – Dad's voice.

"Ash?" Dad called. "Are you ready to go, honey?"

I closed my eyes and willed myself to not cry. _Shuddup_, I told him in my mind. _Leave me alone why don't you?!_

"Coming," I called. I stood up and pulled my bag onto my shoulder. I gave my room one final look-over, then shut off the light, stepped out into the hallway, and shut the door. I headed downstairs. Dad and Mom were waiting by the front door. Neither was talking; they watched as I rounded the corner from the dining room and stepped into view. I looked over Dad's shoulder and kept my face expressionless.

"Hey, Ash." His face broke into a huge grin. "Long time no see, kid."

"Bye, Mom," I said loudly. "I love you." I stepped over to my fragile, beautiful mother and hugged her. She smelled like perfume, and she felt warm next to my nearly always frozen skin. She kissed the top of my head and stepped back, smiling at me.

"Love you too, sweetie," she said. "Have fun in London. Have adventures enough for the both of us, okay?"

"I promise." I forced a smile too, but wanted to scream. _Don't make me go. Please oh please let me stay. _I swallowed hard. _Mommy…_

"Better get going," Dad said. He gently pried my bag from my hands. "Goodbye, Cheryl," he said to Mom.

"Bye Dave." She was watching me suspiciously. "Ashlyn."

"Bye." I gave her one last lingering look, then followed my father out the door sullenly. He waited until the door was shut, then flashed me another brilliant smile.

"This is so exciting, Ash," he enthused, putting his free arm over my shoulders. I stiffened. "We've always wanted to go to London. Maybe we'll see Peter." He winked.

"Yeah, right," I said. I ducked so his arm slid off of me, then gave him a hard glare. "I suppose we'll be hunting down Santa Claus while we're there, too. And maybe the tooth fairy. Oh, and we can't forget the Easter Bunny-"

"Ash," said Dad, looking pained.

"Shut up," I hissed. "Just shut up already. I'm not here because I want to be, and I don't believe in stupid childish nonsense like _Peter Pan_." I spat the words out like poison. "So stop treating me like a kid, _mister_, because I'm _not_ anymore. I'm practically an _adult_."

I slid into the back seat of his SUV and banged the door shut on his hurt expression. I dug my fingernails into the custom leather until there were permanent streaks in the material, then smiled grimly. Dad threw my bag in the trunk, then hopped in the driver's seat.

"You'll change your mind, Ashlyn," he said confidently.

I was silent the entire way to the airport.

* * *

"Oh Dave, she looks just like you," gushed Natalie. She smiled down at me. "Your dark hair is so beautiful," she said complacently.

"Thank you." I smiled. People who couldn't treat teenagers different from little kids amused me. "But my mother's is prettier."

"I'm sure it is." Annoyingly, Natalie appeared undeterred by the mention of my mother. She glanced at her watch. "Oh snap," she said. "We're gonna miss the plane unless we hurry."

"Right," said Dad. He grabbed my bags out of the trunk bed and started walking towards the shuttle stop. Natalie shot me one last smile before running to catch up. For a moment I stood next to the car, debating whether or not to refuse to move so we'd be stuck here. Then Dad gave me one last look, and I decided maybe we could work things out. So I ran.

We just barely caught the plane. We got seats right next to each other. Dad motioned me into the window seat and put our carry-ons in the compartments. Natalie slid into the seat next to me.

"This is so exciting," said Natalie. "I've never been to London. How about you, Ashlyn?"

I was staring out the window. The pavement was wet with dew. Steam rose from it in soft, translucent waves. Flashing lights and the bright orange shirts of the airport workers panned out across the landscape. The sky was brilliant fireworks of orange and pale pink and gold and rose.

"Ash?" Dad prompted. I looked up into Natalie's expectant hazel eyes.

"Oh," I said. "No."

"Aren't you excited?"

"Sure." I dug my iPod out of my pocket and wedged in my earbuds and pressed 'Play'. Then I pulled out my cell phone and pretended to text someone.

Ah, the defense mechanism that is modern technology. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dad's face pull into a disapproving frown. I concentrated on my cell phone and pretended I hadn't seen anything. Natalie turned away, and a few minutes later the flight attendant was talking and the ground was shedding away from the plane like gray-and-green sheets. I watched the sun rise and felt like a bird as we soared through the morning sky.

Before I knew it, I was dead asleep.


	4. Suitcases and Surprises

Okay, REALLY short chapter - shortest one yet, in fact - but I like it. Thank you guys so much for reviewing and reading! I love it! :) I hope you all had a fantastic New Years, and a fantastic rest of the year as well. Anyways, like I said, really short but hopefully not terrible. Thanks!

* * *

"That one. _Grab it, that's mine_," hissed Natalie as the big purple bag passed by on the conveyer belt. Dad dove for it and looped his hand through the handle. He hoisted it off the belt and let it fall like rocks to the ground.

"Hear that dent?" I muttered to no one in particular. Natalie smiled and thanked Dad. "Are we leaving?" I asked.

"Yes," said Dad. He led the way out of the airport, then waved down a taxi. "Just wait, Ash, you're gonna be so happy when we get… well," he paused and winked at Natalie. "You'll see." I eyed him suspiciously and helped to load my suitcase into the cabs trunk. Dad stepped aside to let me slide in first.

I glanced towards the driver, and was surprised to find him on the right side of the car. He winked at me and my obvious Americanness. Natalie climbed in next to me, and Dad last. I edged as far away from Natalie as possible and stared out the window as the cab purred to life.

London, England was everything I'd hoped for and more. Early summer had what trees I could see adorned in various shades of emerald, and blooming with flowers of pale yellow and blue and purple. We passed by Buckingham palace and Big Ben. I stared up at the lampposts and imagined what it would look like at night with its ornate buildings.

"Where did you say you were headed again?" asked the driver after a few minutes of us gaping. He glanced at us in the rearview mirror.

"Bloomsbury," said Dad. He named an address I'd never heard before. I could feel him glance at me and felt confused. Was it supposed to mean something to me?

_Bloomsbury, Bloomsbury_… I was distracted by a horse-drawn carriage, supposedly for tourists.

A little while later we pulled to a stop at a corner house made of brick. There were charming white stairs and high-arched white windows with tiny balconys on the top floor. The windows were open, and long flowing white curtains fluttered out in the wind like pale ghosts. I blinked, frowning. I felt as though I had seen the house before…

"Well," said Dad, "here we are." He slipped the cab driver some money and opened the door. He helped out Natalie, and then reached for me, grinning as though I'd just been let in on a delightful secret. I brushed past him irritably and stood, watching the curtains flap against the clear blue sky as I waited for the bags to be unloaded. The cab pulled away with a sharp squeal against the pavement.

Dad started up the front steps, suitcases in both hands and carry-on bags slung over his shoulder. Natalie padded up after him like a faithful dog. I was left to grab my bag and tug it up the stairs. Inside, the main hall led to stairs, and branched off into a living room and another hallway leading back into the house.

"Up the stairs, down the hall to the left." Dad was looking at me steadily. "The room with the wide double doors, also on your left, is yours." He nodded at Natalie with another one of those annoying knowing smiles. "You'll know which one."

"Thanks," I said sarcastically. I started upstairs, and decided against letting my suitcase – which was about half my size and could eat me in one bite if it was alive and wanted to – hit the walls. Besides, all of my pointed pouting aside, the house was much too lovely for me to ruin.

I followed Dad's instructions. The double doors were painted white with synthetic gold handles. I pushed them open and turned to lug my suitcase inside without looking around. Only when the door was shut behind me did I look at my surroundings.

The room was large, nearly circular. There were three white, four-poster beds on three sides, and one of those high arching windows with the pretty curtains right across from me. The ceiling was painted blue like the sky with white puffy clouds, and in the center was an old-fashioned golden chandelier. There were toy letter blocks, like the kind little kids played with, scattered here and there, and a large doll house. A wooden trunk overflowed with toys at the foot of one of the beds.

It looked like a nursery.

My mouth fell open.

* * *

Yay! Okay, so just a kind of disclaimer to any die-hard Peter Pan fan's like me: I'm mainly using the 2003 Peter Pan movie as a base for mine, but there's also a little of Robin William's Hook mixed in as well. It's basically just a bit of everything, really. So if you don't like the description of the Darling's nursery, I am really really sorry, and you can tell me if you hate me or something because I ruined it. Seriously, you guys can tell me if you don't like it, or if you think I should tweak the description somehow, and I promise I will at least consider it. Anyways, Happy New Years again and keep on reviewing and reading and everything!

Much love,

Lilly


	5. Las Vegas and Nurseries

Okay, 'nother short chapter. But a lot happens in it, so I hope ya'll won't mind. Besides, short chapters are kind of... James Patterson-esque. So it shouldn't be too terrible, right? :) Enjoy

* * *

I ran downstairs. Dad and Natalie's voices came from down the hall. I raced into the kitchen and skidded to a stop in front of them. They were sitting at the table, cups of coffee in their hands and grins on their faces.

"Dad," I said.

"Ash," Dad said.

I glanced at Natalie. "Could you-" Dad was shooting me a Look. I changed courses quickly. "Uh… nevermind." I refocused on my father. "Dad, I'm sorry for being a jerk."

He smiled. "You've figured it out, then?"

"Yeah." I nodded. "It's the Darling's house."

"Yup. And you've got the nursery. You're welcome, Ash."

"Thanks, Dad."

Natalie stood up. "I think I'm going to go take a shower," she announced, smiling politely. Dad and I watched her go. When she was out of earshot, I sat down.

"You know, Ashlyn, you said some really mean things," began Dad. "And I want to know why. You've been mad at me the entire trip here. What did I do?"

I looked down at my hands. "You didn't do anything at the custody rehearing," I said in a very small voice.

"You told me not to, Ash," he said. "You said it would mess everything up, and that you were perfectly happy living with your mother."

"Well, you've never believed me before. I didn't think you'd believe me now." I was starting to feel the effects of jetlag. I wished there was some way to get Dad to speed up the lecture without being rude.

Dad sighed. "I think you're old enough to know, Ashlyn, that no one believes anything unless they want to.

I blinked, confused. "What?" Maybe it was just the jetlag getting to me. Maybe I was still asleep and this was some kind of nonsensical dream.

Dad stood up and dumped out his coffee. He rinsed out the cup and set it on the counter. He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest and considered me for a moment. I was reminded of Mom, when she hadn't wanted to tell me about the custody rehearing.

Dad looked like he was thinking very hard on something unpleasant. "Did your mother ever tell you about how she and I met?" he asked suddenly.

"Not really," I said, still entirely confused. That was another weird thing about me: I didn't know much about my parents pasts or their history together before I existed. Come to think of it, I'd never even seen wedding pictures, and they never told me stories about crazy college nights. I'd never met my grandparents until last year after they'd gotten divorced; and then, it was only my mom's parents. But the weirdest thing was that I'd never cared enough to ask questions.

Dad smiled slightly. "We ran away when we were both seventeen and got married in Vegas," he said. "We were young and stupid. One year later, almost to the day, we had you. Let me ask you something, Ashlyn," he continued without giving me time to absorb anything. I stared at him. "How old am I?"

"Thirty-two," I said belatedly. I was still stuck on the drama that was my parent's past. I'd never really thought about how young my parents were. Even Seri's parents were in their forties.

"Exactly." Dad smiled, but there was little warmth in his eyes. Dark blue eyes, just like mine, but suddenly I felt like I didn't know him at all. Mom… she'd only been three years older than me when they'd gotten married… I shivered. "I don't know if you've realized this, but your mother and I are still in our prime years."

He shifted comfortably before continuing. "For awhile it was fun," he said. "Your mother and I really were in love. You were such a sweet little girl. But Ash, you've always know my nature is to have phases. Your mother knew that too. So when we got divorced, she wasn't that surprised. Family life…" he shrugged. "Just a phase. I got bored. Having a daughter to lug around all the time would be a burden, one that your mother is much better at handling. So I believed you when you said you wanted to stay with your mother because I wanted to."

I blinked again.

Silence settled over the room. Dad watched me, his expression easy, like this was nothing. I decided his eyes weren't like mine at all; they were too cold. And too young. I felt like a million years old.

"So… you got bored of me?" I clarified. My voice was impressively even.

Dad shrugged again. "Not entirely. I brought you here, didn't I? We can still hang out, Ash. I just don't want to have to take care of you _all_ the time. Okay?"

"Okay," I said numbly. I stood up. "I'll be in my room."

"One more thing," said Dad just as I was about to leave. "That essay you wrote… 'Why the World Doesn't Need Peter Pan'?" My hand went to my pocket where a crumpled up copy of the paper was hidden. I'd printed it out before we'd left for the plane. I didn't remember why at the moment.

"What about it?" I whispered.

"It was good." He smiled. "But childish."

"Okay," I said.

I went to my nursery.


	6. Strange Boys and Gummi Worms

The nursery was too bright and cheerful. It didn't suit my mood. I walked to the window, closed and locked it, and drew the curtains shut to block out the light. I hooked up my iPod to some speakers and pressed play.

"_It was you and me against the world and you promised me forever more. Was it something that I said? was it something that I did? Cause I gotta know what made me unbeautiful_."

I stared at the painted ceiling and the golden chandelier. After a few moments I picked up my cell phone and dialed my mom's number. Maybe I didn't know what to do, and maybe I was thousands of miles from home, but Mom was Mom anywhere.

It rang three times before there was a click, some rustling, and then my mom's voice. She was giggling hysterically. "Joel," she said, her voice muffled, "who _is_ it?" She laughed again, louder and girlish. "Gimme my phone!"

I hung up before she could even answer.

_"I know days will come and go, but baby I'll grow old and I will die. For now, is it worth is to be sad, if it's harder to be glad to be alive? But the trouble I have caused, I wonder, where do I belong?_"

I crawled into the most feminine-looking bed and pulled the covers over my head. I closed my eyes on the silence between songs and on the emptiness radiating through me.

"_So you got bored of me?"_

"_Not entirely… I just don't want to take care of you _all_ the time… having a daughter… a burden… childish…"_ Dad's words echoed through my head. I wondered why I wasn't crying. This was worse than just knowing Dad wouldn't fight for me. A million times worse.

"_I don't wanna feel like this tomorrow; I don't wanna live like this today. Make me feel better, I wanna feel better_…"

Maybe, I thought idly, I was past feeling. Maybe I was a robot. Maybe this was a dream.

Maybe I'd always suspected this all along, so I was just… prepared for it.

"Okay," I said aloud. I pulled the blankets down so I could breathe again. "Okay, I can deal with this." My voice echoed; my iPod had died.

_Can you?_ said a small voice at the back of my mind. I could almost feel it smirking. _I don't think so._

"Yes I can," I told it. "I can do this all on my own." Then I laid back down and closed my eyes and slept off the jetlag.

* * *

"Ashlyn?"

"Yes, Natalie."

"Do you want to go shopping with me?"

"No, Natalie."

* * *

"Ashlyn?"

"Yes, Natalie."

"Do you want to come downstairs and have something to eat? You haven't been downstairs since we got here."

"No, Natalie."

* * *

"Ashlyn?"

"Yes, Natalie."

"Are you sick?"

"No, Natalie."

She gave up after that.

* * *

I plugged my iPod into a portable charger. I wrote two new diary entries about London, and everything I'd observed from my balcony window. We'd only been here one whole day, and I hadn't come out of the nursery yet, except to dart into the bathroom, which was just down the hall. I'd woken from jetlag-drugged sleep at noon the next day, and had since then gulped down a bag of nacho Doritos, three gummi worms, four malt balls, and had drank half a bottled water. The rest I was hording away for later.

It was about nine o'clock the next night. Currently I was idly sketching tattoos onto my foot with a purple Sharpie. The room was getting stuffy since the window was closed and the drapes were drawn. Downstairs I could hear Natalie and Dad talking. I rubbed my eyes and wondered how in the world I could be tired after sleeping so late today.

There were footsteps up the stairs and down the hall. Someone knocked on the door and twisted the doorknob just to find it was locked. "Ashlyn," called Dad. "You're overreacting,"

"Uh-huh," I called back.

"You can't go much longer without food."

I smirked and glanced at the small pile of snack food Mom had packed into my travel-on bag for the plane trip. "Prolly not."

He left.

I yawned and stretched after finishing a particularly elaborate rose tattoo on my calve. The room was way too stuffy. I strode over to the window and opened it, then leaned against the balcony railing and looked out into the night sky, the cool air reviving me but only slightly.

"Goodnight, London," I called softly. I climbed into bed, having never changed out of my pajamas, and closed my eyes.

* * *

A soft noise woke me up, seemingly moments later. I wrinkled my nose in annoyance and stretched out, yawning widely, before pulling my blankets down and sitting up. I looked around. The room was dark, except for the moonlight slanting across the floor. Everything was still.

"Nice," I said to the room in general. "Great, now I'm up." I yawned again and shivered. A slight breeze stirred the curtains and raised goosebumps on my skin. I got up grudgingly and walked over to the balcony to close the windows. I latched the small silver hook back in place and gazed out through the panes at the starry sky.

There was a very small noise like the jingling of bells behind me.

"_Shhh_," said a male voice, annoyed.

I turned around and stared at the newcomers.

"You," I said to the strange boy, "are definitely _not_ my dad."

* * *

AHHHHHHHHH PETER PAN! ::shivers with excitement:: Yay! Anyways, um, I feel compelled to credit the songs that I have used in my fanfic so far:

In My Arms - Plumb

Unbeautiful - Lesley Roy

Believe In Dreams - Flyleaf

Never Surrender - Skillet

Hope you guys like it! Remember, I love criticism and reviews and maybe just plain encouraging comments - it keeps me going! :)

Love,

Lilly


	7. iPod Crashes and Happy Thoughts

The jingling noise was back. A small, sharp light flitted nervously around the boy, moving too quickly for me to focus on. The boy was frowning as though he were confused.

"Well," he responded after a moment, "you're not Wendy." As if that was a valid retort.

"No," I agreed. We studied each other. He appeared to be about my age; he had curly blond hair with brown undertones, pale eyes, a sort-of snub nose, and deeply tanned skin. He was wearing the strangest thing – it looked like low-hanging long shorts held by a sash around his left shoulder, all made of leaves. A lone vine trailing from the opposite shoulder formed an "X" across his bare chest, and another vine formed a kind of armband on his left bicep. His tanned muscles gleamed, bleached pale blue in the moonlight from the window, and they were rounded as if to emphasize youth.

"So…" I studied him, unsure how to proceed. "Um… Who are you and what are you doing in my room?" Might as well cut to the chase, I thought reasonably.

"I'm Peter Pan." He did a weird little bow thing, smiling. "Who are _you_?"

I blinked. "You're who?"

"Peter… Pan?" He looked uncertain.

"Oh," I said, "okay." I glanced him over once more and bit my lip. His bare feet were probably grinding dirt into the ancient carpet.

Oh well.

I stepped past him and walked back towards my bed. "I'm Ashlyn," I said over my shoulder. "Good night." I climbed into bed. I was surprised to find him standing there still, watching me with confusion obvious on his face. I sighed. "You can go tell Dad it's not working, okay?" I looked away. That weird little light was imprinting on my eyesight.

"Dad?" he repeated.

"Yeah," I said. "The guy who hired you to come… cheer me up or something. Tell him I don't want his little misguided apology. It's not working."

"I'm sorry," he said. "No one hired me." He looked around the room, his hand resting still on his dagger naturally, like it was force of habit. "I came here looking for Wendy." He sighed, and there was a weight in his light eyes. "I guess she really did grow up."

I smiled, but just a little. "Didn't you figure that out when you dropped Jane off?" I taunted.

"Jane?" The poor boy looked extremely bewildered now as he took a step towards me. "Who's that?"

"Never mind," I said.

We stared at each other during another one of those awkward silences. I noticed the weird light was gone.

"Well," I said, "if you would like to leave now…?"

"I would," said the boy, "but I don't know where Tinkerbell's gone. I can't just leave her here."

"Oh for goodness-" I stopped.

I found her. She was perched on the nightstand, observing my iPod with a look of pure contemplation. I stopped because I really _saw_ her – she was beautiful, with golden hair pulled into a messy bun on top of her head, a tiny leaf dress, and fragile, ethereal wings arching from her shoulder bones. When they twitched, they shimmered with colors I didn't even know existed.

_She was real_.

"I found her," I mouthed.

The boy shot me an odd look, then noticed where I was looking. "Oh," he said. He flew over to the table. "Whatcha lookin' at, Tink?" he asked her. The little fairy glanced up at him and jabbed a tiny finger at my iPod. He picked it up and ran his fingers over it, perplexed. When it lit up, he let it fall back to the desk with a loud clatter, and he jumped – flew – backwards, hand going to his dagger, which hung on his right hip opposite a pan pipe. The little fairy darted out of the way just in time. "What is that?" the boy asked me, but his eyes wouldn't leave the iPod for a moment until he was sure it was safe.

"Um," I said. I stood up and walked over to it, and picked it up. I pressed "play" to make sure it was all right. "It's an iPod," I said. "It plays music."

"Oh." He nodded, but I could tell he was just humoring me. "Well, Tink," he said, "let's go. I guess we'll have to tell the boys that Wendy-"

"Wait," I said. He stopped flying towards the window and turned to look at me.

"Yes?" he said.

"Take me with you." I gave him a pleading look. "Please."

The boy looked at his fairy doubtfully; the fairy glared at me and shook her head firmly no. The boy smiled at her annoyance.

"I can help fight," I invented wildly. "I can help cook and stuff."

He wasn't looking convinced yet. I needed to add something!

"I can tell stories," I said.

The boy froze in place. He regarded me with wide pale irises. Moonlight danced over his features, hollowing out his cheeks and darkening his eyes. The little fairy was now nothing but a silver silhouette, beautiful minuscule wings shedding dainty golden flecks as they beat to keep her in flight.

"Wendy used to do that," he began uncertainly.

"Wendy's gone," I reminded him. "The Lost Boys need a mother. I can be that."

He eyed me. "Have you ever been a mother before?"

"Of course not," I said. "I'm just a kid." And, after a moment… "I'd like to stay that way, too."

The little fairy bristled, and the small tinkling of bells ensued. She flew to his ear and hovered over his shoulder. The bells sounded almost like words – but not enough so for me to recognize what she was saying. She cupped her hands around her mouth and glanced at me, as if I could be eavesdropping, as she spoke.

The boy listened patiently, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Tink," he began, but was cut off by more bells. "Tink," he tried again, "you-"

"Fine, just forget it." I stalked back into bed. "Shut the window when you leave. Give the boys my warmest regards. Sucks that they've got no mother, eh?" I threw the blankets over my head and nestled into my pillow.

There was a small whisper of wind. Pressure on the side of my bed. "Ashlyn?" he asked.

"Mmph." My response was smothered by the warm fabric of the pillow. I smiled to myself. It was a secret, malicious smile.

"I thought about it," he said, "and I just had the bestest idea."

I waited.

"Why don't you come back to Neverland with me and be our new mother? You can tell stories, and you'll never have to worry about grown-up things again."

I pushed the blankets away from my face and stared at him incredulously. He waited for a moment for my reply, then when he realized that he would get none, he added, "I can teach you how to fight, too, if you like."

I rolled my eyes and kicked off the covers, then got out of bed. "Okay," I said. "I'll come."

The fairy was furious. She flew at the boy, speaking in what could only be described as angry, tittering chimes of protest. The boy grinned and flicked her away from his ear.

"Boy," he said, "you're sure not Wendy."

I smiled. "What gave me away? The lack of a nightgown?"

He laughed, except it wasn't a normal laugh. When he laughed, his mouth curved into a glorious wide smile, and his eyes lightened infinitely, and his shoulders moved; it was the laugh of a child yet undisturbed by the frets of adulthood. "You'll have to learn how to fly," he told me.

"Faith, trust, and pixie dust," I muttered. "Right, I know."

"Right." He snatched the fairy out of her angry pout midair, and tapped her gently a few times, holding her over my head. Golden flecks, sparkling like freshly fallen snow, covered me. "Now just think happy thoughts, and they'll lift you off the ground."

_Not staying here with Dad_, I thought grimly. The boy rose into the air, waiting, tempting me upwards, but I stayed firmly grounded.

"Ashlyn?" he lifted one eyebrow, waiting with a small, easy smile. "Remember, happy thoughts."

"Call me Ash," I said. I lifted my eyes to his and regarded him thoughtfully for a moment.

The boy's smile widened, half between a smirk and real delight as my feet left the ground without my realizing it. "Let's go," he said. He darted to the window, and paused just on the tiny balcony railing.

I glanced around the room, as if I was afraid I was forgetting something, and sank back down to the ground. Then I looked at the boy. He was leaning forward, his feet on the ornate railing, his hands on either side of the window, a smile on his face. The moonlight caught every strand of his hair and gleamed darkly on his leaf-clothes. He waited for me patiently.

"Peter Pan," I whispered to myself, almost inaudibly. The name stirred up a sense of longing in the pit of my stomach, an aching, resurrected dream. An aching, resurrected belief. Again my eyes met his.

My smile mirrored his as I was lifted once more off the ground, defying the laws of gravity. His grin grew, his eyebrow arching mischievously. "Scared?" he asked. I flew to the window.

"You wish," I said, feeling very much like Harry Potter.

The boy extended his hand. I slid my hand into his, and his skin seemed unbelievably warm compared to my own icy temperature. "Don't let go," he warned me.

"I won't." We slipped off into the cool London night air. I looked down at the buildings passing underneath us, cars moving like shimmering fairy lights on roads, lights sparkling and winking at me like reflections of the stairs above us.

"…Peter," I finished in a whisper.

* * *

I'M REALLY REALLY SORRY IF YOU GUYS DON'T LIKE JEREMY SUMPTER PETER PAN! D: I love both - the Disney and Jeremy - and I had to choose and I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY! Hate me if you want. D: Remember: critique, comment, smell the roses, and let them eat cake.

Peace out.

Lilly


	8. Flying Swords and Girly Mothers

Okay, okay, I know it's been a loooong time since I last updated this story, and I am incredibly sorry! I am really busy, so I've basically been writing this during study hall and when I was supposed to be paying attention in class, so it took forever. Anyways, I'm really really sorry and I love you all for not completely abandoning me or hunting me down with pitchforks and torches and screaming "KILL THE WITCH" outside my house. So... Hope you don't hate it or me anymore! I'll try to write more soon! ^^

Love,

Lilly

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In my hurry to leave my normal life behind, I'd forgotten something. Something unbelievably important that one would expect me to remember no matter the circumstances. Something that totally screwed up my whole trip to Neverland with my hero Peter Pan.

I'm terrified of heights.

Which probably explained my lack of consciousness.

"What is it?"

"It's a Wendy!"

There was a loud thunk. "It is NOT a WENDY, Tootles," snapped a familiar voice.

"Sorry, sorry. Silly of me. St_u_-pid, I know…"

I moaned softly, trying to recall my last memory. All I remembered was cold air and the most spectacular view, and then the familiar cold clench of fear in my stomach. I remembered Peter Pan's bewildered face and voice, and then darkness…

Waitaminute. Peter Pan? What in the world was I thinking? I most likely was dreaming. And… passed out from hunger and anger towards my dad and all other kind of –er words.

"I think she's coming around!" exclaimed someone by my right.

A cold, wet substance splashed quite suddenly on my face, soaking my hair and shirt. I sputtered and sat up, blinking the liquid from my eyes, and glared at the boys surrounding me. "What the heck was that for?!" I demanded angrily.

"S-Sorry," stuttered one of the boys. They all wore matted outfits resembling Peter's own odd ensemble, and all were dirty and distinctly forlorn-looking. "Peter said to dump water on you."

Peter Pan stepped forward and cuffed him on the back of his head. "I meant while she was still unconscious, you blockhead!"

"Sorry, Peter," chorused the group of young boys. The one who'd apologized to me ducked his head.

Peter rolled his eyes, but he was grinning at me. "You're really heavy," he told me. "I almost lost you."

I sputtered again and pushed myself off the fur bed I was lying on. I ran a hand back through my hair haughtily. "Ex-cuuse me," I snapped. I sniffed at him and brushed my clothes off, very lady-like, to symbolize my anger.

Peter just grinned at me.

I looked around. The Lost Boys, who were all somewhat younger than Peter and I, were watching me with wide eyes. We were standing in what appeared to be a hollowed-out tree trunk; the floor was dirt, and the beds were furs piled on top of roots.

"So," I said. I looked at the boys and forced a smile. I held out my hand. "I'm Ashlyn Wendy Burke, but you can call me Ash," I said. "I'm your new mother."

"Wendy?" repeated one of the boys. He elbowed another boy gleefully. "See, I told you it was a Wendy!"

"She," I said, offended. "I'm a 'she', not an it."

"And she's not a Wendy," said Peter. He looked pained. "I have the bestest idea."

_Yeah,_ I thought. _Let's stop talking about his runaway girlfriend._

He bowed grandly to me, then gestured to the boys. "Ashlyn Wen- Ashlyn Burke, these are the Lost Boys." He winked. "Gentlemen, I give you your new mother."

"Quick, lads, make yourselves presentable!" exclaimed one. They quickly turned their backs on Peter and I and began running dirty hands through dirtier hair, and straightening their leaf-clothes. I raised my eyes at Peter with an amused smile as we waited for them to finish primping.

"I'm Slightly, Mother," said one boy. He was slight (which is probably why he was named "slightly") with dark brown hair and a serious face. He shook my hand. "I plan the battles. I don't remember my old mother at all. Do you remember yours?"

I nodded.

"Was she just grand?" Slightly asked hopefully.

"Sure, I guess," I said. I pictured my mother. "She was beautiful and warm."

"Aye, 'tis common for a mother to be so," said Slightly, nodding sagely. "I'm so looking forward to being your son."

"My turn, my turn!" crowed a different boy. He elbowed Slightly out of the way and bowed to me, sweeping a pirate hate off his head clumsily. "I'm Tootles, Mother," he said. He had brown hair as well, but he was considerably bigger than Slightly, and his face was round and more boyish.

"Pleased to meet you, Tootles," I said.

"Us next, us next!" Two boys barreled over Tootles. "We're the Twins, Mother," they said in unison. They were the youngest and the shortest of the group.

"Hi," I said. I wasn't sure how to respond to them. How do I called them? 'Hey, the Twins, time for bed!'? What if I just wanted to talk to one of them?

"I'm Curly, Mother," said another boy. He had thick, strawberry-blond curls that spread around his head like a haywire halo.

"Hello, Curly," I said.

I looked at the last boy. He was by far the tallest, with long dark hair. "I'm Nibs, Mother," he said.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Nibs." I smiled at him. "I'm pleased to meet all of you."

"Yes, yes, very pleased," said Peter. "Now, men, I promised I would bring you a new mother, and I have. Wendy shall stay with us forever, and tell us stories every night, right, Mother?"

"Ash," I said softly. Peter looked confused. "I'm Ashlyn, Peter, I'm sorry. You called me Wendy."

"Oh. Yeah, right." Peter looked at the boys. "Now, men, who wants to go humiliate the pirates aboard the Jolly Roger?"

"I do, Peter!" cried the boys. They clambered all over each other in their haste to get their weapons.

"Wait, Pet- I mean, Father," I said, "You can't just leave me here. I should like to go along."

The Lost Boys and Peter exchanged loaded glances.

"Can you fight?" asked Peter finally, looking doubtful.

"Of course." I held my chin high with pride. Actually, I'd never handled a real sword before. But I'd taken karate for a few years when I was seven, so maybe I could coax the pirates to play weaponless.

Sure. And I might as well ask them to go easy on me too. And stop by Starbucks on the way for a refreshing frappacino.

"Prove it," said Peter. He tossed me a sword. I grabbed the handle and gripped it firmly in my right hand, feeling empowered. He drew his own sword and took a dramatic stance. Then he gestured for me to proceed. "Ladies first, Mother," he said.

The Lost Boys backed away as I did a spectacular spin, slicing the air with my blade – only to have it go flying. It just barely missed Tinkerbell (who'd been pouting throughout the introductions) before sinking sturdily into one wood wall.

Peter gaped at me, stunned into silence for probably the first time in his life.

"Oops?" I shrugged my shoulders and smiled innocently.

"Oh, no," I heard one of the Boys whisper, "Mother's a _girl_."

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...So... Yeah. A lot of introductions this chapter. x3 I'm sorry! Anyways, hope ya'll are having a great 2010 and aren't too mad at me for the delay!

Peace out

Lilly


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